Turning to a clean page, Lady Margaret placed her notebook and pencil on Tinkerton’s workstation. “Would you mind giving me their addresses? If possible, I’d love to gather that first band of inventors at the anniversary gala and take a commemorative photograph for my article.”
“Aye, I can do that, miss.” Beaming a smile that spanned the breadth of his voluminous mustache, Tinkerton scribbled away for a few moments before sliding the notebook back across the table to Lady Margaret. “Here ye are, miss. That’s the lot.”
Lady Margert perused the names thoughtfully. “Are you certain? According to my research, you’re missing an inventor called J.Dawkins. Do you recall him, perchance?”
Mouth puckering in a frown, Tinkerton stroked a hand over the lower half of his face, mustache curls springing back into place. “Nay, miss. In the nearly fifty years I’ve worked here, I’ve never met a man by the name of Dawkins.”
A rock of disappointment plunked into Charles’ stomach. It seemed Lady Margaret’s suspicions of Dawkins being a fictional entity were likely on the mark. He hated to think what the accuracy of her instincts might portend regarding his employer.
“I see.” Lady Margaret closed her notebook. “My apologies, Mr. Tinkerton. I must’ve gotten my wires crossed with research on a previous—”
“Posts, everyone!” A booming shout drew all eyes toward Caractacus Potts, who was preparing a demonstration of his latest invention. Charles had seen the device in action, though it’d been rather underwhelming. A sort of scaled-downtrain track, the machine was meant to convey cutlery and steaming plates of food secured upon miniature flatcars from kitchen to table and back again by rolling them along a system of electric-powered rails, but as Mr. Harrison had kindly observed,“Further development is required, lest the gadget serve many a cold dinner for breakfast.”
It seemed young Caractacus was quite eager to show off the developments he’d made for improved efficiency and increased speed. His colleagues and Mr. Harrison had assumed their posts at a dining table positioned at the end of the iron track while Caractacus stood at the head, one hand poised on a lever. “Three, two, one!”
Caractacus threw the lever, and the machine threw everything.
Bowls zipped down the length of track at an alarming clip. The startled men at table zigged and zagged as dishes careened between their heads, shattering against the brick walls. The machine crackled, hummed, popped, and whirred. Sputtering as it spewed its cargo hither and yon. Plates whizzing through the air one after the other.
Ducking under the table, the inventors shouted as one, “Turn. It. Off!”
A frazzled Caractacus fumbled with the lever, which appeared to be jammed.
Charles was just about to offer aid when a fork zinged his direction and sunk its tines into the left curl of Tinkerton’s mustache.
Mr. Tinkerton gawked at his impaled whiskers. “By jove!”
“Get down!” He half dragged, half caught Tinkerton as the man sank. After depositing the man on the floor, Charles whirled around and reached for Lady Margaret, but his palm grasped air. She was gone.
His heart stalled.
God in heaven, where is Reverie?
Chapter
24
With a clank, the lever smacked against the metal switch plate, killing the hum of electric power, and the machine came to a sudden halt. Jarring silence resounded throughout the factory. For a few hushed moments, no one dared speak or move. Eventually, with much trepidation, the men began to emerge from where they’d taken cover. Shuffling feet rattled shards of dishes. The inventors assessed one another for injury, noting only minor bumps, bruises, and shallow abrasions. Taking charge, the factory foreman organized cleaning efforts while Mr. Harrison attempted to console Caractacus, who was equal parts apologetic, shaken, and dismayed.
Still, there was no sign of Lady Margaret.
After assisting Mr. Tinkerton into a nearby chair, Charles extricated the fork from the man’s waxed mustache. Though shaken and pale, Tinkerton and his facial hair were remarkably unharmed. Assured of the older man’s welfare, Charles took to surveying the room. A tremor jolted through hishand, and he fisted it tightly. He’d not panic. Not yet. If Lady Margaret was nowhere in sight, that meant she’d vacated the premises before the pandemonium. As she was wont to do, Reverie had merely disappeared. Only this time, there was no library to serve as her sanctuary. Where, then, might she have flown for refuge?
Maneuvering around debris and distracted inventors, Charles hastened to the foreman’s office near Tinkerton’s station, a potential hiding place. He burst through the door and heaved a sigh of relief. Chair wheeled backward into a corner of the small room, Lady Margaret curled in on herself, shielding her head with her arms. She was safe, but ... Franz Listz, was she trembling?
Charles approached slowly, lest he increase her agitation. “It’s over, Miss Knight. All is well.”
Unfurling, Lady Margaret lifted her head. Her complexion, already fair, had gone completely ashen. Wrapping both arms about her chest, she leaned back in her chair, sunk down, and shook her head. “I shouldn’t have been there. Not while the men were working. I—I didn’t think. Why didn’t I think? I know better. I—”
“It’s all right.” Charles knelt before Lady Margaret and placed a hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Everything’s going to be all right. You’re safe.”
“This time.” A shudder disturbed her frame as she breathed the words. “Thank God it was different this time.”
Charles swallowed. Based on what he’d observed in their time together and what little Lady Margaret had divulged, he’d surmised her physical condition was the result of an accident, rather than an illness. But seeing her like this ... he was overcome with the need to know beyond doubt. The need to hear the minor keys struck by past events that still reverberated through the symphony of her life. How else might he accompany her with harmonious comfort?
His hand wandered upward. Cradling Lady Margaret’s face, his thumb traced the lines of tension pinched along her temple. “What happened to you, Maggie?”
Lady Margaret’s gaze collided with his own. Green eyes, wide and gleaming, she peered into the very depths of his soul. He could almost see her running calculations, taking his measure. The silence between them became kinetic, charged with the energy of a packed concert hall on opening night, hushed in expectancy. Barely breathing, Charles remained perfectly still, lest she withdraw from his touch. Lest Reverie vanish before his very eyes, withdrawing into a corner of that incredible mind of hers for sanctuary. Hiding where he couldn’t follow.
